I could only cry:--'Oh, Mary, Mary! what shall I do?
Oh, Mary Quince! what shall I do ?' It seemed to me it must be near daylight by the time the Doctor arrived.

I had dressed myself.

I dared not go into the room where my beloved father lay.
I had gone out of my room to the gallery, where I awaited Dr.Elweys, when I saw him walking briskly after the servant, his coat buttoned up to his chin, his hat in his hand, and his bald head shining.

I felt myself grow cold as ice, and colder and colder, and with a sudden sten my heart seemed to stand still.
I heard him ask the maid who stood at the door, in that low, decisive, mysterious tone which doctors cultivate-- 'In _here_ ?' And then, with a nod, I saw him enter.
'Would not you like to see the Doctor, Miss Maud ?' asked Mary Quince.
The question roused me a little.
'Thank you, Mary; yes, I must see him.' And so, in a few minutes, I did.

He was very respectful, very sad, semi-undertakerlike, in air and countenance, but quite explicit.